


Housewarming

by The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff



Series: Fire-verse [7]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Bloodplay, HA that was chapter 1, M/M, Mirror Sex, Porn with Feelings, also vampire sex, basically it's almost 700 words of them snogging in a bathtub, welcome to the expanded edition where it's really just all about gratuitous butt stuff honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2020-08-13 08:21:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20171125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff/pseuds/The_Honeyed_Hufflepuff
Summary: Simon & Baz share a bath in their brand new home. Things get steamy.((can be read apart from the rest of my series; just know that it's no longer canon compliant 🙃))Now with art by @KrisRix 😏





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KrisRix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/gifts).

> So basically, y'all, I put up [a kissing prompt list](https://thehoneyedhufflepuff.tumblr.com/post/186806348697/50-types-of-kisses-writing-prompts) on [my Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thehoneyedhufflepuff) & I'm cross-posting here. Set a few months after [A Rainy Day in London](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18612031) & [Something Like Sunshine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18980875), our boys are settling into their new home just fine.
> 
> Prompts:
> 
> A fierce kiss that ends with a bite on the lip, soothing it with a lick.
> 
> Weak, sweaty kisses because it’s unbearably hot.

**SIMON**

It feels like a bloody sauna in here, but Baz said he wouldn't wait to use our new bathtub. Said he's been without for years, and he's going to use it now that he has it, damn it. And, well. It's not like I could just let him break in the tub _ by himself_, could I? Merlin knows we've been stressed as all fuck recently, what with the move and his Masters and my cookbook launch, so. Might be I wanted some quality time. 

Doesn't make it any less fucking hot in here. He likes the water bloody scalding. It's so hot that even _ he's _ got a bit of a blush to him. What I can see of him, I anyway.

I'm sat behind him now, working on his neck with my lips. (I'm hoping to give him some ideas. Some ideas that'll give him even more of a blush later.) His skin is salty with his sweat, but I like it. I like to taste him. (I want him to taste _me._)

Water trickles down from my arm as I lift it to wrap across his chest and pull him back, closer. I splay my other hand against his belly, rubbing it in slow circles that way he likes. (Hopefully teasing him a bit, too.) 

He sighs and leans into me, tilting his head to the side as I kiss my way along his neck. He's got his hair pulled back, so I don't have to move it out of the way myself.

Baz shivers when I ghost my teeth along his scar. "What're you doing, Snow?" I think he's too relaxed to put any real venom in it.

"Hm," I hum against his skin. "What d'you_ think_?"

"What I _ think_," he breathes as I press my lips to his scar, "is that you're being very _ distracting._"

"Yeah, well. Don't hear you complaining," I say. I still my hand against his belly and move it down lower, lower, _ lower_—

And Baz's breath hitches when I wrap my hand around him.

"Right, yeah. Doesn't seem like you're too put-out—"

He turns his head and catches my mouth with his, sucking on the scar on my bottom lip and tracing it with his tongue and _ fuck, _ it's _ my _ turn to gasp. It's so fucking _ hot, _ and my heart is hammering in my throat, and I hope—no, I _ know_—that he can feel that. My blood. Probably he can smell it from here. (All I smell is cedar and bergamot and sweat, a day's hard work mixed with the scent of heady bathwater, the scent of _ Baz._) 

It's making me dizzy, all of it.

His body slides down into the water, his head falling farther back until he's practically resting it on my shoulder. It makes me feel like I've just made Baz Pitch melt, honestly. I take hold of his face and slip my tongue into his mouth slowly, _ slowly. _(I want him to melt some more.) 

He doesn't. 

He shoves his face into mine instead and _ fuck, _I wonder if we could shag in here. I think we probably could; the tub's big enough. (Baz was very particular about this blasted thing, the toff. But it was important to him. He wanted a nice study and a bathtub. I wanted a bigger kitchen. We both got what we wanted and then some.)

I'm just thinking about all the ways we could get each other off when Baz bites the scar on my lip. It's not a nip, either, not like it usually is. It makes me jump a little, but then he's dragging his tongue along my lip, dipping it into the crevice of my scar and _ fuck yes. _ His mouth is cold, but his touch is fire. _ He _is fire. And I think he's going to bite me tonight.

I fucking hope he's going to bite me tonight.

He finishes his lick, then pulls my bottom lip into his mouth, giving it a gentle suck before he lets go and pulls back to look at me. My eyes flutter open as I pull my lip into _ my _mouth.

Baz is raising an eyebrow at me.

I grin at him. 

And then I kiss him again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi yes my name is Ashley & welcome to my filth. I'm now incapable of being succinct, so here's 9k words of gratuitous fucking. Sorry Mom & Dad, I know you wanted so much more for me but this is just who I am now.
> 
> Also the happiest of (sightly belated) birthdays to my dear friend Kris, whose [wonderful fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20124745/chapters/47675503) makes me feral & inspired me to finally finish this fic. If you're not already reading his fic I honestly don't know what y'all are doing with your lives.
> 
> Side note: This is no longer canon-compliant, but I've not bothered to go through all my post-CO fics & mark them as such yet. Just FYI if you've not read my stuff before! There are some refs to my other fics on this particular timeline but it should still be able to be read on its own. Anywho, let's get the party started I guess.

**BAZ**

Simon Snow wants to be fucked.

I know because he's sat in my lap, grinding against me like his life depends on it. He's practically whining into my mouth, practically begging to be bitten, and it's making my fangs itch inside my skull. I can't even remember how we ended up like this, but I'm not complaining. 

He's unknotted my hair so he can run his hands through it, so he can _ pull _it. I keep feeling my sweat pooling and dripping down my back, and I'm not sure if I should blame it on the heat or on Simon Snow.

Well. At least my foresight was correct regarding the bath. Of course I made certain it'd be big enough for the both of us. 

Clean up would certainly be easier, if I bit him in here, but he's acting like he wants it rough. And that's making_ me _want it rough. If we've learned anything over the years, it's that rough sex is better in a soft bed. 

He tries to follow me with his mouth when I pull back. (That only makes me smirk. It still _ does, _ sometimes, knowing that he's mine. That he wants _ me. _) I plant a kiss under his ear. "Let's go to bed, love," I say against his skin. He's damp with sweat, and I can't help but flatten my tongue against his neck and feel him shiver. 

"Could just. Fuck here," he says between sighs. 

"No," I say, and I slip a hand down his back, down into the water, down into the cleft of his arse until his breath starts to shake. I press against him with my fingers and he clenches. "Not if you want what I think you want."

"Why the fuck not?" he groans. 

"Because it'll be better, in bed. More room. No hard surfaces."

He huffs. "That's not exactly true," he says, and he reaches beneath the water to give my cock a pull.

"You're an idiot," I say, but I press myself into his hand as best as I can anyway. "Too hot in here anyway," I sigh as he strokes me. "Getting dizzy."

"Mm, yeah. Me too."

"So."

"So." 

I cock an eyebrow at him and suck on my teeth, then I raise myself carefully up and out of the water. Simon stares at my cock, at the water running down through the black hair between my legs. Then he raises himself to his knees and swallows me down.

_ Fuck, _but he can be convincing sometimes. And impulsive. But it feels too fucking good to stop him now.

I lower myself to sit on the edge of the tub instead, winding my fingers in his damp, sweaty curls as his head bobs between my thighs. He hums around me as my fingernails drag along his scalp and I can't help it when my mouth falls open. Then his blue eyes meet mine as his tongue slides along my frenulum and it's a fucking miracle I don't come right here.

"Up," I gasp. "Get the fuck up."

He pulls off with a debauched pop and starts to stand, bending and taking my face in his hands as he licks into my mouth, lets me taste myself on his tongue. _ Aleister fucking Crowley. _

He slides his lips off of mine and stands, and before he can do anything else I pull him towards me by his arse and take his cock in my mouth. I can feel him shaking as I lick and suck, as I use my hand to stroke the parts of him I can’t reach, as I roll his bollocks in my palm. 

“_Fuck_,” he moans at the ceiling. “Fucking _ hell_.”

I hum around him, just once, then I pull off as slowly as I can manage, just to hear him groan. Just to hear him get frustrated and riled up. And then, _ well. _ I lean in and bite his hip. Not enough to break the skin—not _ yet _—but enough for Simon to whimper under my touch. Enough for him to writhe when I start to suck a bruise into his skin. 

“Fucking. _ Christ_.” Ah, he’s swearing like a Normal. He _ is _ good and riled up then. “_Fuck, _ you’re such a _ twat." _

I just suck at his hip harder, and he thrusts against me, his cock twitching against my collarbone as he gasps up above me. 

My fangs are prickling in my skull, itching to drop. I can smell it, his blood. I can practically feel it rising under my teeth. _ Not yet, _ I think. _ Not yet. _ I keep on, still, lapping at his hip, drawing his blood closer, _ closer. _

He shudders when I stop, and again when I flatten my tongue against his mottled skin to sooth it with a lick. Then I look up at him, and he looks down at me. His chest and neck are flushed from arousal and the heat of the bath, and he has his bottom lip pulled into his mouth that way he does. He’s sucking on his scar, the first one I ever gave him.

He’s about to get another.

**SIMON**

Baz insists that we dry off before we get in bed.

“You’re a _ mage_,” I growl, yanking my towel from the rack and patting myself dry as quickly as possible. I leave off the bit about me being about to explode from wanting to fuck. Probably that’s implied. Maybe that’s his strategy—his _ plot_—to let us simmer down a bit before we really get started.

I don’t know that it’s working, honestly, because all I can think as I watch him toweling himself off—_languidly, _the insufferable prat that he is—is how he’s going to do it. How he’s going to fuck me, and how he’s going to bite me. 

I think he _ knows _ that I want him inside me tonight. Pretty sure I made that clear enough with the grinding and all. I like it like that, sometimes, to have him drive into me while he bites me. Drives _ him _fucking mad, too. He’s like a demon when he gets that way. (Like, a sexy sex demon, I guess.) (I fucking love it.)

Still, I make sure to tease him as best as I can as we make our way into our bedroom—our_ brand new _ bedroom, its walls a calming hunter green. (I thought it was funny, _ hunter _ green. “_Fitting that, for our bedroom and all,_” I said when we went to look at colours, holding the swatch up and waving it at him. He just raised an eyebrow at me, but I still think he was at least slightly amused.) (He agreed to it, in any case.)

Anyway, I make sure to tease him as he trails behind me, rolling my shoulders, flexing them. Tilting my head from side to side. (That’s where he bites me, most of the time, right where my neck meets my shoulder. Right in the first place he ever bit me. Says he doesn’t want to draw too much attention, leaving magickal scars all over me.) (I don’t think I’d mind, having Baz’s marks all over me.) (Fuck, just looking at that hickey he gave me in the bathroom makes me shiver. But I _ get _ it; can't be too conspicuous. All that.) 

Our bed is perfectly made up—for _ now, _ anyway. (Baz was the one fucking around in here earlier, unpacking his fancy wardrobe and making it smell like cedar and bergamot in here _ already, _ somehow; of _ course _ the bed’s fucking made.) I crawl up and onto it instead of getting in from the side. Give him a show. (The bed’s new, too; a _super _king. It feels fucking huge, and it’s taking me longer than I thought to crawl across it, but the longer Baz has to stare at my arse the better, I guess.) I lower myself onto my belly once I’m near the headboard—finally—and roll to lie on my back, letting my legs fall open for him _ just _in case it wasn’t clear. To drive home the hint. 

Baz is just stood at the foot of the bed, head tilted to one side with one of those fucking eyebrows arched at me. I’d almost think he’s bored, if not for the raging hard-on between his legs. It’s been a while since he’s fed, too (he’s not quite as flushed as he could be, and there’s the slightest clench in his jaw as he watches me). That’s good, honestly. It’ll be easier to taunt him with my blood this way. He watches me with blown pupils as I take hold of my cock and start to stroke myself. (I make sure to smirk at him while I do it.) His eyes flick down and he watches the pump of my fist for a moment, wordless. 

Then he bloody well walks away. 

I growl and still my hand. “The fuck you going—? Oh.”

He’s stopped next to his bedside table and opened the top drawer. “Yes,” he says once he’s taken a bottle of lube out and set it on the bed. “_Oh._”

I roll my eyes and huff at him, the prick. “C’mere and kiss me, you pretentious fuck.”

“No,” he says, smirking.

Oh, well. That’s new. Or at least it doesn’t happen _ often, _Baz refusing to kiss me.

I sort of like it.

I move my hand down and press against my bollocks with my palm. “Wh—”

“_No_,” he says again, sharper this time. It sends a bit of a thrill through me, honestly, a surge of electricity sparking down my spine and blowing out somewhere between my legs. 

Baz sneers at me. “Come here,” he says. “And bend over.”

I grin at him, because _ fucking hell, _this is going to be good. 

**BAZ**

Snow has been trying to taunt me since we got out of the bath. 

I’ve not let on that it’s working. (I don’t _ think._) (Of course it's bloody well working, especially with him sat there touching himself, legs apart and open for me. _ Smirking _ at me, the inflammably handsome bastard that he is.)

Aleister fucking _ Crowley_.

I should've had the foresight to drink before we came in here. I can very nearly hear his blood singing inside his veins. Chomsky knows I can _smell _it, sweet and heady and undeniably Simon. It's made all the worse—or all the better, I suppose—because I know what's coming, how I'll be able to feel it inside of him. How it'll rush hot and thick and salty into my mouth when I finally sink my teeth into him. The way he’ll cry out—my name, maybe—and growl as he comes. Just the thought makes me want to reach down and wrap a hand around myself. Or better yet, plunge into Simon, sink into him and feel his heat surround me. _Now_.

He's taking his sweet time bringing himself over to me, however. And, _ well_. Two can play. I can wait. 

I drag my tongue along my teeth and cross my arms, raise an eyebrow at him. Shift my weight to one foot and watch as his eyes flit down and land on my cock. He pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, sucking on it as he finally settles at the edge of the bed in front of me. 

He doesn’t do as I said, doesn’t roll to his belly and bring himself to his knees. He just looks from my cock to my eyes and juts his chin at me. 

“Snow,” I say again, forcing my voice steady. “Turn the fuck around.”

His lips quirk up in a mischievous smirk, then he nods in the direction of my wardrobe. 

I’ve a full length mirror there, and I think I know where he’s going with this, depraved little demon that he is. The implication alone stokes the fire already burning inside me, and _ fuck, _ I need. I _ want. _But not yet.

“Want to watch, do you?” I say as I step away to adjust the mirror. 

He’s gone back to touching himself—I can see him in the mirror as I pull it to the side of the bed—running his fingers down along his length and cupping his bollocks in his hand. I almost want to order him to start fingering himself, want to deny him everything he wants—_expects_—from me. My body. My fangs. The length of me pressing into him until he sees the bloody stars. 

“Do I wanna see you fuck me?” he huffs. His eyes meet mine in the reflection and something stirs in me, deep and feral. He stops looking me in the eye to stare at my arse instead—his toes flexing as he takes hold of himself—and bloody well licks his lips. “Yeah,” he breathes, his voice low. “Yeah, don’t do this much. So. Yeah. Do your bloody worst, darling.” 

_ Darling. _Oh, yes, he’s trying to rile me up. I do my damnedest to look unaffected even as my heart tries to burst in my chest.

I arch an eyebrow at him in the mirror before I turn back around. _ Don’t do this much. _ I’m not sure what he means by that. It’s not like the instances of Snow bottoming are few and far between. I suppose it’s usually him with his cock inside me, but he likes this enough to do it on a regular basis. (Sweet Morgana, have I really not woken from this years-long fever dream?) I don’t mind. Especially when I can drink from him while I fuck him. Because I’m disturbed. (Which, we’ve discovered, is right up the alley of Simon’s sexual interests. We’re both debauched and depraved in our own ways, and we can agree on _ this. _) 

His breath hitches as I step towards him, but he holds my gaze as I crowd into his space, press one hand into the heat of his chest, and push. He lets go of his cock as he lies back, his pupils blown so wide I can barely see the blue of his eyes. He's watching my mouth as I suck on my teeth.

"Got me properly in your thrall, then?"

I drape myself over him until our mouths are mere inches apart, and his breath comes hot against my lips. "If I had you in my _ thrall, _Snow, you would've been turned around with your arse in the air five minutes ago."

He juts his chin at me again, almost knocks it into mine, but I don’t kiss him. I _ want _to—of course I fucking do—but I don’t. I draw myself back up to my full height instead, slotting one hand between his waist and the mattress, pressing against his ribs until he concedes and rolls on his belly for me. Then I grab him by the hips until he lifts himself to his knees, his face still pressed against the sheets.

He’s right where I want him now, right where I _ need _ him. I just want to press myself forward and let him take me, let myself by swallowed by Simon Snow, surrounded by him. But he’s not ready, not _ yet, _and I want to drag this out. I want him keening. I want him dripping precome before my cock even touches him. 

I think about that, about getting him wet and wanting, about taking him in my mouth and tasting the salt of him. About making him writhe.

There are other ways to do that.

I drop to my knees, only to see Simon’s hand still working between his thighs. Not fast, not frenzied. But _ still_.

I set my hands against his waist and he jumps. My palms are likely cool against his skin; even a hot bath can’t change that for long, can’t keep up the facade of humanity. “No touching yourself, Snow,” I say, smoothing my hands up and down the swell of his arse. (It’s fucking beautiful, of course, just like the rest of him, with a small scattering of freckles, one mole on the right, just below the dimple of his pelvis.) (There’s a scar, too, right above his tailbone. I feel a surge of nostalgia every time I see the damn thing, can practically feel that ridiculous devil’s tail coiling around my ankle or my calf.)

His hand stills. “_What_?”

I slap him in the arse and he startles again, shudders. I watch his flesh turn red and feel the strain in my groin, the saliva pooling in my mouth. “Don’t. Fucking. Touch yourself.”

Simon huffs. “You’re a bloody sadist.”

“Well,” I say, smoothing one hand over his hot, reddened skin. “Are you saying you can’t manage it, then?”

“_No_,” he mutters into the sheets.

“Then no touching yourself.”

He growls but drops his hand to the bed anyway. _ Good. _

**SIMON**

Baz can be a right prick when he wants to be.

I fucking love it.

He doesn’t want me to touch myself? _ Fine. _It’s hot enough watching him in his mirror, on his knees, my arse in his face. (Thank magic he still shows up in mirrors.) 

I think I know what he’s going to do, but he’s taking his sweet bloody time. He’s rubbing my arse, right at the sting where he spanked me, and spreading me open, and fucking _ breathing _ on me. It’s a fucking sight, honestly, and probably it’s good he told me to stop touching myself, otherwise it’d probably be too much and over too soon. But Jesus _ Christ, _I need him to fucking touch me already, the self-righteous prick. 

That’s when I see him dip his head, _ feel _ him flatten his tongue against my hole, and it feels so _ good, _ bloody _ finally. _ The cold of his mouth makes my breath hitch, makes me clench. He dips his tongue again, and I can’t help it—I press myself back, anything to bring him closer, _ deeper. _

My cock is throbbing, and I just want to touch myself. Or I want Baz to touch me. _ Fuck, _ I just need to be _ touched. _

I whine instead. 

Baz lets out a cool huff of air, then he’s grabbing me by the hips and pulling me closer to his mouth and _ fuck_. I almost reach for my cock. _ Almost. _I clench my fists in the bed sheets instead and watch the mirror as Baz starts pressing his tongue into me. The sight alone’s enough to make me gasp. 

He's going to devour me, and I’m going to die. 

Or maybe just lose my mind. 

**BAZ**

Simon Snow _ likes _this. I think he likes it almost as much as he likes doing it to me. 

I tighten my grip on his hips, pulling him even closer to fuck him with my tongue as he whines up above me. He’s pressing himself back, grinding up against my face, searching for the friction I’m not allowing him to have.

Well. It’ll be all the better when I give it to him. 

I draw my tongue back, then press into him again, just a little, just enough to drive him mad. “Fuck, fuck, _ fuck, _ ” he moans, and his hips lurch back towards me, pushing me. I push back. “You’re a bloody show-off—_fucking_—”

I hum against him, and he swears again, and I have to keep myself from thrusting forward into the bed frame. I hold him fast and lick him again, again, _ again, _ and he’s gasping and mewling my name and grinding against me and I can’t help but imagine him with _ his _ face in _ my _arse. 

Later, perhaps. 

For now, I give him one last long, slow lick before I pull away and stand back up. Simon sounds like he might be about to cry. 

_ Good. _

**SIMON**

Baz is licking his lips when he pulls away from me, even as he stands.

He catches my eye in the mirror and cocks an eyebrow at me. I can see how huge his pupils are, even from here. The grey's almost gone out of his eyes... 

I don't know if I have any fight left in me at this point, honestly. Not that we've been at it long, but…

He sweeps some of his long black hair out of his eyes where it's been hanging and holds my gaze a beat too long. It makes my heart speed up in my chest, thrall or no. (There's no thrall. I think I'd _ know _if there were.) (I don't need much convincing to do his bidding as it is.) (Fuck, I wonder what that'd be like, to have him control me like that…)

Baz isn't looking at me anymore. Not at my eyes, anyway. I can see him sucking on his teeth as he stares at my arse. I'm laid out and open in front of him, and _ fuck, _ it's uncomfortable. But it's hot, too. _ So _hot.

"C'_mon _," I growl at him. It comes out half-pathetic, muffled against the sheets.

I need him to stick something in me. _ Anything. _ His cock. His fingers. That dildo I bought him for his birthday a few years back. (I've a fleeting image of that time he let me watch him fuck himself with it; eight _ snakes._) His tongue, again. Bloody _ anything. _

Funny how that is now, the _ want. _ The need. I never even _ thought _ about this until that night, the first time he bit me. Years ago, now. I still didn't understand everything I wanted. Everything I _ needed _ from him. 

It's not all the time I feel like this, but when I do…

Merlin, when I do—

"_Baz_," I growl at him_. _

I don't want to beg. (Or maybe I do.) But I _ would _ if he made me. I would.

He touches me then, cups the cleft of my arse and starts dragging a finger through his spit. He's _ slow, _ so fucking slow—_too _slow.

I watch him in the mirror as I buck my hips back into his hand. He smirks, the absolute twat, and pulls his hand away.

That's it. That's fucking _ it. _

"Fuck you, _ please_—"

He's grinning now, and—

_ Oh. _

"That's it," he slurs around his fangs. (I can't believe I missed them dropping, _ fuck…_) Then he picks up the bottle of lube and starts to coat his fingers.

Bloody fucking _ finally. _

I let out a pitiful moan of relief just at the sight of it, because I'm aching, and throbbing, and fucking _ burning. _My arse keeps pushing itself towards him with what seems like very little help from me, and not being able to touch myself is torture.

I feel my cock twitch between my legs just at the thought of touching myself, at the thought of _ Baz _ touching me. He's lubing up like he's got all the bloody time in the world—

_"Baz_," I growl again. "_Please, _just—"

He sets the bottle of lube down and says, "Please what?" He still manages to look _ cool _ . I'd hate him if I didn't love the bastard so fucking much. (Okay, fine. Sometimes I _ still _hate him. Like when he's very pointedly not fucking me.)

I growl at him. Again. "_Fuck me,_" I say into the sheets.

"What was that?" 

"You're such an arsehole." 

"Hm. I can be more of one, if you'd like. I could leave you here alone. Leave you dripping. Maybe use a **Stay Put**—"

"_Fuck me,_" I say again, louder this time. 

Baz was ready for that, I guess. His finger's already slipping into me.

**BAZ**

The moan that slips out of Simon when I finally breach him makes my fangs itch.

He gives me another when my fingertip brushes his swollen prostate. 

"_Fuck._" It comes out through gritted teeth.

I stroke over the spot again just to hear that sound.

There're so many places to go from here. I could get him spread wide and ready for me. I could milk his prostate until he comes writhing with my fingers inside him.

Or I could toy with him, edge around the inevitable. Make him wait some more.

I had to wait _ years _ for him. Sometimes I fancy giving him a taste of his own medicine, and I know he takes it willingly despite his protests. Then the both of us always come out love-drunk and high on the other side.

Simon's mouth drops open again when I slip my finger out to the knuckle and back in again. I rub over his prostate once, twice, three times, listening to the sweet cacophony of moans and sighs and gasps before I take the pleasure away from him. 

The next time I slide my finger back, I add another. 

"_Fuck,_" he says again.

"Hm." I reach up into him and smooth both fingertips over the swell of his prostate. He's practically keening for it. "Like this, do you?"

"I'd like it a lot better if you'd—_fuck_—hurry the fuck up." He's reaching between his legs again.

"No touching yourself, Snow," I tell him. "Give me your hands."

"What?" 

I still my fingers inside of him. "Put your hands behind your back."

He does, and I take hold of his wrists to keep him still. He whines when I slip my fingers out of him, but he lets out a sigh of relief when I slide that hand down to cup his bollocks and give his cock one long, slow pull.

**SIMON**

I meant what I said before, he's a fucking sadist.

He strokes my cock _ once, _then lets go of it and leaves me here with my hands pinned behind my back. I feel like all my nerves are matches trying to catch.

"I fucking hate you," I say. It comes out more pathetic than I mean it to, but _ Merlin. _

"Do you?" It's not really a question. 

I'm watching us in the mirror again. We're a fucking sight, honestly, and Baz is so fucking fit I'd call it unfair if he weren't mine. (It's _ still _ unfair, but at least I get to look at him. At least I get to _ touch _him.)

He presses two fingers against my hole again, and then they're slipping into me and _ fuck, _ he keeps rubbing me right where I want him to and then taking it away. _ That _for sure isn't fair. But also it feels so fucking good I'm almost not bothered to care. I know he's doing this on purpose, which is well hot. But also I don't know how much longer I can stand it.

He's watching us in the mirror, too. I make sure he’s looking at my face before I glance between his legs and suck at the scar on my lip. His cock gives the slightest twitch and I know I've fucking got him. _ That's right, love, I want your prick inside me. _

I flick my eyes to his again in our reflections. He's sucking on his fangs as he fucks me with his fingers.

"If I let go of your wrists, will you try to touch yourself again?" he asks.

I shake my head, just slightly. 

Baz raises an eyebrow at me. "_Don't. Fucking. Touch yourself._"

"I won't," I tell him.

At least I'll _ try _not to.

**BAZ**

I let go of Simon's wrists, and he folds his arms in front of himself on the bed.

I can't keep this up much longer, but there's a thrill settled deep in my belly from making him wait. 

I look at the mirror—at _ Simon_—look right in his eyes. "Do you want my cock?" 

He doesn't say anything, just shudders and clenches around my fingers. It's work not to pull them out and plunge into him. I've never been able to deny him anything.

I add a third finger and Simon chokes on a moan. "Snow," I say again. "Do you want me to fuck you?"

"_Yes,_" he hisses.

"How?"

"You're _ such an arse_—"

"_How do you want me to fuck you_?"

He huffs and I stroke up against his prostate again; I can't help it. 

"_Snow._" I try to be stern. It's not difficult to do; I had years of practice, back when I thought throwing insults was the closest thing I'd get to intimacy. "Do you want my cock in your arse?"

"Fuck you, _ yes_."

"_Good,_" I say.

I don't give it to him.

I watch us in that mirror instead, watch Simon Snow writhing with my fingers up his arse as I tease him. He’s so bloody gorgeous like this, his curls tumbled across the sheets, his mouth opening and closing as he moans and whines, the flush over his cheek and neck and back.

I reach for the lube with my free hand, snapping it open even as my fingers work inside Simon. When I glance at our mirror, he’s looking right back.

“Fucking finally,” he breathes as I upend the bottle over my cock. Some lube rolls off and drips to the floor, but I don’t fucking care right now. I won’t stop touching him. 

I snap the cap closed and toss the bottle to the side, then Simon watches me as I stroke myself slick. 

“Fucking hell, love,” he sighs.

His groan as I still my fingers and slip them out of him goes straight to my cock. It’s throbbing. _ I’m _ throbbing. I fucking _ need, _ and _ want_. Now.

I take him by the hips and step closer to him, as close as I can get, pressing myself against him as I pull him towards me. He whines as my cock slides along the cleft of his arse.

“Fuck, Baz, give it to me already!” 

I smirk at him, and I think he tries to jut his chin at me but it doesn’t work very well with his face pressed into the mattress. “You’re impatient tonight.”

“No fucking shit.”

"Give me a safe word."

The one of his eyes I can see rolls. "Don't need it."

"Yes, we do."

"Baz, you've never hurt me—"

"Not on purpose. I'm a _ vampire, _you twit. And I feel better, to have one."

"Fucking _ fine. _Anathema. Obviously."

Of fucking course, the beautiful idiot. I huff a laugh despite myself, then thrust forward again and let my cock slip over his arsehole. His eyes are squeezed shut, his hands fisting in our bedclothes, his jaw slackening.

"You're trying to kill me," he sighs. _ Whines. _ Pouts, almost. It's such a lovely thing. He's setting me alight, and I'm not even inside him yet.

_ Yet. _

I tighten my grip at his hips with one hand and wrap the other around my cock. His rim flutters as I rub myself against it.

That's it.

No more.

I can only wait so long.

**SIMON**

Baz is pushing into me. Finally, finally, _ finally… _

It's good. It's so fucking good, every goddamn time. I always end up asking myself why we don't do this more often…

My grip tightens in the sheets as he presses forward, closer, closer, _ closer. _A ridiculous sound tumbles out of me as his cock hits that spot inside me that always makes me feel like I'm about to go off….

Baz moans right back at me and smooths one cool hand along the small of my spine as he bottoms out.

"_Fucking_—" I start, but I don't know what I was going to say. Nothing, maybe. Maybe I'm just supposed to lie here gasping and speechless for the rest of eternity.

Works for me.

"Done watching, Snow?" Baz asks. His voice manages to sound sweet and threatening at the same time.

"Hm?"

"You've closed your eyes. After being so insistent about the mirror—"

My eyes fly open. "Don't you fucking dare," I say. I'm watching our reflections again, the slide of Baz's cock as it pulls out then disappears back into me. That perfect muscle in his perfect arse flexing as he thrusts. That fucking eyebrow quirked as he smirks at me. The sight of his fangs pushing over his lips as he fucks me…

He's moving way too slow, and I know he's doing it on purpose, the pompous bastard.

So the next time he thrusts forward, I jam my arse back as hard as I can. It makes me choke.

"Ah," Baz says, still fucking poised. Barely affected. Prick. "So desperate you want to fuck yourself on me, do you?"

I'm always fucking _ desperate. _But also I love it when he talks like this. I'm obsessed with it. Almost as much as I'm obsessed with him.

Fine, maybe not _ that _much.

"Fuck you," I breathe, and that's when he bends—lightning fast, so fucking fast it knocks the wind out of me—and yanks me to my knees. He's got his arms wrapped 'round my chest, one hand at my throat...

Baz's chin is tucked over my shoulder, his face pressing into mine. He brings one hand up and turns me by the cheek until we're both looking in the mirror.

I've forgotten how to use my hands. I'm dripping precome on our sheets. My whole body's shuddering just from Baz's breath against my skin.

"What'd you say?" It's a fucking _ purr _on his lips, even with the sounds slurring 'round his fangs. 

I watch my own Adam's apple bob in my reflection. Then I scoff. "Said _ fuck y_—"

And then he's kissing me, swallowing the rest of the word before I can get it out. He's careful—so fucking careful. He always is, when his fangs are out. One scar on my lip is enough, he says.

I still think about that night sometimes, the first time Baz sank down onto me and rode me till he came. The way the sight of his fangs as I drove up into him nearly drove_ me _ mad. How I kissed him so hard, I sliced my lip right open. How it bled—there was so _ much _blood—and how he licked it from my skin. The noises he made while he did it.

I wonder if he'll lick me tonight. Well. More than he already has, anyway.

He's rocking against me now, and I'm groaning into his mouth as he kisses me. My cock is pulsing and dripping and I just want to reach down and fuck into my own fist...

Baz slaps my hand away from my cock when I reach for it.

"Thought I told you not to touch yourself?" His lips are catching on mine as he talks. It makes me clench around him.

"You gonna do it, then?" My voice is shaking in my throat.

I think maybe I'm trying to antagonize him into biting me. Wouldn't be the first time. It never bloody works.

At least not right away.

Baz holds my hands in his and wraps his arms back around me—I'm practically hugging myself—before thrusting once, twice—

Then he fucking pulls out.

**BAZ**

I'm not biting him, not _ yet. _

If I bite him, we'll both come in seconds. I can't have _ that. _

Simon's dropped back to all fours; I don't think he's pleased that I've pulled out. He glances over his shoulder at me. "What the fuck, Baz?"

"On your back," I tell him. I'm pretending like I have it together right now, like I'm not just as fucking desperate as he is, like my fangs aren't begging to sink into him, like my heart's not about to catch fire.

My heart's already on fire. He lit it up long ago.

He rolls to his back. "You gonna join me up here now?"

I think about denying him, I do. But I want him. I want to feel the length of our bodies pressed together as I make him moan. I want to feel his belly shuddering beneath mine when I finally bite him, and feel his come hot and wet between us.

I pull myself up onto our bed, and Simon grins at me, starts moving himself back so we're not so close to the edge. 

I shuffle on my knees until I'm at his feet, then I yank him towards me by the ankles and revel in the gasp that slips out of him. He's so fucking beautiful. A gorgeous disaster. He's laid out before me, Simon Snow, his perfect cock flushed and heavy and leaking against his belly.

I run my hands along the backs of his thighs and press into them until he lifts his legs for me and folds them to his chest. Then I crawl until I'm holding myself on all fours above him. His pupils are blown wide, but I can still see a sliver of ordinary blue, of _ Simon _blue.

He gasps again when I push back into him, his perfect mouth falling open as he clenches tight around me. He palms my arse and urges me forward as I start to thrust. 

I'm not gentle about it. I don't think that's what he wants. 

He's looking in the mirror again, so I look, too, watch myself fuck into Simon Snow as he holds tight to my arse, his face contorted in pleasure. He looks right in my eyes as he takes the hand closest to the mirror and sucks two of his fingers into his own mouth. I can hear the pull of his saliva, right _ here_. I only need to turn my head to look down at him, but there's something about watching his reflection that sends an exciting jolt of pleasure down my spine.

We're still staring at each other when he starts to drag his fingers out of his mouth. He does it _ slowly, _giving me a taste of my own medicine. His wet skin glistens slightly in the low light of our room. 

He pulls his bottom lip into his mouth and toys with it, then he's reaching down into the cleft of my arse until his wet fingers are brushing my rim and sweet fucking _ Merlin, Morgana, and Methuselah. _

Our breath comes heavy between us in time with each piston of my hips. Simon's shut his eyes again, his mouth hanging open as he tries to work a finger into me. 

I can't take much more of this, of his groans and the sounds of our skin coming together and the rich, brown butter scent of him. The _ heat _of him.

His head tips back and he chokes on a moan. I swear I can feel it as the head of my cock slides against his swollen prostate, but maybe that's just my overly-active imagination.

"_God_—_fuck_—_yeah_—"

He'll be the death of me. I always expected him to kill me, just never like _ this_, panting and writhing beneath me as I fuck him into oblivion.

Well. What a beautiful day to die.

**SIMON**

I can't take much more of this.

Baz's skin is warm against mine now, at least where I've been touching him. I've got enough heat for the both of us, even without magic.

I'm still leaking precome between us, and my bollocks are so fucking tight, and every time Baz hits my prostate I feel like I'm about to go off. 

I've got the tip of one finger inside him, and every time he clenches around it I clench right back. 

Baz is a flame—a bloody _ demon_—and his fire is catching. I'm on fucking _ fire. _

I'm riding on the edge of orgasm but not close enough to tip. He dragged this whole mess out, and I already know I'm going to come harder than I have in a while, when I finally fall. He will, too.

My mouth drops open as he starts pressing kisses into my neck. His lips are cool, and gentle, and I can feel the bulge of his fangs just beneath…

"You gonna bite me?" I breathe.

He doesn't answer, just pushes into me harder. 

I crook the tip of my finger inside him and squeeze his arse with my other hand. His mouth starts to open against my neck—

Then he pulls my head to the side by my hair and I almost come from the anticipation alone, feeling the wave build in my belly before it peters out again.

"_Do it,_" I growl at him. "Fucking _ do it_—"

He does.

**BAZ**

I'm latched onto Simon, and he's flowing into me.

**SIMON**

It feels like the world's gone quiet. _ I've _gone quiet. Everything slows down at once. 

Our breathing. 

The air around us. 

Our hips moving against each other.

**BAZ**

I'm moaning against Simon's skin as his blood pours sweet and hot into my mouth. 

I can feel the echo of his heart beating in my chest.

**SIMON**

One of my hands is in Baz's hair. 

I'm holding his head, keeping him still at the junction of my neck and shoulder as he drinks from me.

Fuck, I love this.

I love him.

I'd give him anything. _ Everything_.

I do.

**BAZ**

Simon finally chokes on a moan.

He always goes silent when I bite him, at least at first. It's the only time he's ever quiet when we make love. When I bite him.

When I bite him.

He chokes on another, the sound ripping through his chest and falling from his lips like a song.

One hand tightens in my hair as the other presses into the swell of my arse, and then Simon's arching against me, growling, _ crying _as heat pools between us. 

**SIMON**

I don't think I've ever come so hard in my life.

It crashed into me, my orgasm, and it's still rippling through me, _ tearing _through me as Baz keeps on. Keeps on taking my blood. Keeps on fisting his hand in my hair. Keeps on driving into me. 

I hold onto him. I hold him tight with my arms, my legs. 

And I let him go.

And then he stops moving.

**BAZ**

I pull my fangs out of Simon slowly.

I'm not moving anywhere below the waist; I've decided I don't _ want _to come yet.

I've other plans.

Simon's chest is heaving as the blood begins to well from his bite. I'm thirsty—_so _ thirsty—but I know when to stop. I'd never hurt him. I _ couldn't. _

Simon's fingers are gentle against my scalp. "Take it," he says, softly.

He's still pulsing around me, threatening to make me spill into him. I breathe deep and focus on the blood running down his skin instead, on the smell of it, the taste. _ It'd look lovely against our sheets_, I think, which means I'm definitely too thirsty and too turned on to care about _ cleanliness_, of all things…

I remember the first time I bit him, then. The way he raked his own blood across his chest, how just the sight of it had me keening…

I touch him gently at the punctures and catch his dripping blood with my fingers. I let it pool along the crease between our skin, and then I'm pulling it back up, towards me, over his shoulder, down his chest, painting him in crimson. I smear it down his breast and around his nipple before I dip my head and start to suck.

"Fucking hell…" he whimpers. I think I've worn him out. 

I feel his head turning towards the mirror again, hear the rustle of his curls against the pillow.

His fingertips are trailing along my back. "God, yeah…"

I've never told him how much it spurs me on when he swears like a Normal. He only does it when he's pissed off. Or when he's out of his mind with desire.

I love that _ I'm _the one who makes him do it.

I graze my teeth lightly over the hardened tip of his nipple once, twice, drawing depraved sounds from Simon as I do. Reveling in them. And then I'm tracing the lines of his smeared blood with my tongue, my cock throbbing more with each sweet inch.

"You're so fucking hot…" Simon sighs.

I lave at the bite again, flattening my tongue against his skin in one long, slow stripe. He moans as I slide my lips over it, as I kiss him there with an open mouth.

The bleeding is slowing down, and my heart is speeding up.

I pull back to look at him. He's lovely, his curls a tousled mess, his mouth slack...

"Come again," I tell him. 

His face is flushed and confused. "What?"

"I want you to come again."

His breath catches. I suppose I probably look rather intense at the moment. "Yeah, alright," he says. 

I sit up between his thighs. His cock's softening against his belly, but that's alright. 

There are other ways to come.

**SIMON**

I'm not sure what Baz is on about, but I'm not mad about it.

He's taking me by the hips and pulling me down and plunging into me and it's almost too much. It's almost too _ much, _and then suddenly it isn't. Suddenly it just feels like I'm coasting along the edge again…

My shoulder's on fire, but it's _ good, _and my whole body feels like it's lighting up again, lighting up for Baz.

I'm shocked he hasn't come yet. I mean, usually it doesn't take much once he bites me. (Not that I'm complaining.)

He's so beautiful, so lovely. Strong. Graceful. Fucking ruthless, just like he's always been. His hair's wilder than I've ever seen it, falling around his shoulders in thick black waves. I look down between us, down the line of black hair on his belly to where we're joined together. A bit of my come’s shining on his stomach, and his hands are resting on my thighs. I take them, because I can't _ not _touch him.

Then I look in his eyes. They're dark, and dangerous, and I can't look away.

I groan at the sight of him, I can't help it.

"You like this, Snow?" 

I huff at him. "You're such a dick," I say, even though I know he's only talking like that because I like it.

He just fucks me harder. "You take cock so well."

There it is again, that wave promising to crash. "_Fuck…_" It's all I can think to say.

He's practically sneering at me, his mouth full of fangs, and I can't look away. _ I can't look away_—

His hands tighten on my legs, and he thrusts harder, and every time he drives into me it feels like I'm on the brink of _ fire_—

"Come on, Simon," he says, my name slurring in his mouth. "Come for me."

My whole body tenses, and my hands tighten on his, and then—

I break. I fucking _ short-circuit _ . I go full-on _ supernova, _ pushing my hips up against him, riding his cock as the stars burst inside me _ — _

I can barely hear myself, the way my blood’s thundering in my ears, but I know my mouth’s hanging open. I know I’m making enough noise for the both of us_— _

Baz crashes into me, then, his mouth finding mine to swallow the moans tearing out of me. They aren’t big enough sounds to describe the things I feel, but they’re what I've got. 

And him.

I've got him, too. He’s the whole bloody world just now. He’s _ everything. _

His lips are warm with my blood, and he tastes like copper, and he’s tracing his tongue along the scar on my bottom lip as I press into his arse with my palms...

Then he’s pulled away to flatten his tongue against the bite in my shoulder again, and Jesus _ Christ— _

“_Fuck yeah, love_.” I breathe the words into his hair. “_Fuck—yes—fuck, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon—” _

He whimpers against my shoulder, and then he’s kissing me again. Another roll of his hips. Another, _ another _ , an _ mmph _ against my mouth as I urge him on with my hands_— _

And then Baz is coming, too.

**BAZ**

The pleasure is pouring off of Simon just the way his magic used to, permeating the air and rolling through_ me, _too.

I'm shuddering on top of him, and he's shuddering beneath me, his heat surrounding me as I pulse into him, as his blood flows in my veins.

I'm kissing him, and he's kissing me. We're trading moans, sighing hard and heavy against each other's lips as we rock against each other, as I still my hips, as our hearts thunder together. 

I've not kissed him enough since we left the bath. A pity, that, but not one that can't be remedied.

So we stay here, just like this, kissing lazily until we're too tired to move. We kiss so long, my fangs have retracted by the time we're done. 

When I finally pull away, I nestle my face between his neck and shoulder. (The one without the bite.) He's tracing lazy shapes against my back, and I'm willing to fall asleep like this, surrounded by Simon Snow, drunk on his blood. Drunk on love.

Fuck, but I'm still such a cliché.

I don't mind.

I don't know how long we lie here. 

Simon's face nudges mine eventually. "Think we broke the bed in well. The bath, too."

I snort and drag myself up to look at his face. He's dazzling as always.

He reaches up for my mouth and pulls my bottom lip between his teeth before flopping back down. "Could do with a little of your magic just now." 

I raise an eyebrow at him before I move to get my wand.

We've a whole routine. Healing spells. Cleaning spells. We keep up appearances, in the end, like nothing depraved ever happened in this bed. Like Simon's blood never spilled against the sheets. There's just the mark, the scar between his neck and shoulder that could be anything, really. 

Simon used to do a lot of fighting. It's not his only scar.

* * *

I drink a pint of pig's blood before bed. Simon has milk.

It's odd, in this brand new kitchen, but it feels right, too.

Simon climbs into bed in boxers and a t-shirt. I watch his reflection as I move the mirror back to where it belongs. Crowley, the mirror…

He’s already thrown most of the blankets to my side when I join him. It’s a big bed, bigger than we’re used to—

Simon tugs at the waistband of my joggers. It’s a bit of a reach. “Hey.” 

I turn my head and cock an eyebrow at him. 

“What were we thinking?” he says.

I’m not sure what he means. _ What were we thinking, letting you bite me? What were we thinking, buying this brand new house before we’re even engaged? What were we thinking, being together? _

“What’re you on about, Snow?” I ask. I can feel my heart beating in my throat.

“‘S a fucking huge bed. You’re too far away.” He gives me a look. “What did you think I meant?”

Oh.

_ Oh _. 

“Nothing,” I say.

He moves towards the middle of the mattress and holds an arm out for me. He’s grinning, almost shyly. 

I feel so close to him, even when he’s this far away. That’s how it always is, when I take his blood. (That’s how it always is, full stop.) 

I move towards the middle of the bed and let him fold me to him. His arms are strong and warm and comforting around me. I nestle my head against his shoulder and rest one hand against his chest to feel his heart beat against my palm. He’s so _ alive… _

Simon presses a kiss into my hair. “I love you, you barmy git.” 

It’s been years now, since the first time he said it, but the words still manage to make my heart skip a beat. (I don’t have many beats to spare.) (I’d spare them all for him.) 

“Yes, well,” I say. “I’m also mildly fond of you. Your black pudding’s particularly good—” 

“Fuck you.” 

I huff a laugh and smile against my will. “I love you, too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I'm gonna go write something more wholesome now. Hope y'all enjoyed. <3
> 
> **EDIT 1/31/20:** Many thanks to my friend Kris, who reverse-Uno’d me on _my_ birthday & created the art for this fic. 💜💜💜


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